


Secrets and Lies (The Ignorance is Bliss Remix)

by gryffindorJ



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Moral Ambiguity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-12
Updated: 2009-08-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 18:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16603631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindorJ/pseuds/gryffindorJ
Summary: Sirius hides potential evidence of Remus's misdeeds.





	Secrets and Lies (The Ignorance is Bliss Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Thirteen](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/432239) by Minnow_53. 



> Written for the R/S Remix Challenge 2009. Many many thanks for torino10154 for the look over and a HUGE thanks to my lovely beta midnitemaraud_r.

_Gay_

That's what Remus was. He was gay. As gay as Sirius, and in some respects, even more so. The police knocking at their door, accusing Remus of things that if not so disgusting, would have been laughably absurd. Didn't they know Remus was gay? Not only that, but he was sweet and kind and loving, and a damn fine person.

Far better than Sirius could ever be.

He stood by the window, looking down at the street where they had pushed Remus into the back of a car, delicately fingering a variety of succulents he had recently taken a crack at growing; a monadenium, two sansevieria, hawthoria and of course an aloe. He liked the special attention they needed, they weren't like any other house plant. Some people thought you could forget about them and they would grow but that was far from the truth. If anything, they needed more attention due to their temperamental state. He touched each one softly. Sirius turned away from the plants to keep from mangling them.

He went to the cabinet and poured himself a healthy measure of whisky. So it was nine in the fucking morning. He didn't give a shit; Remus had just been carted off.

With his drink to accompany him, Sirius moved quickly about the flat, looking for anything that could be misconstrued as so-called evidence. The police hadn't had a search warrant, but Sirius wasn't stupid; he knew they'd be back with one. His grandfather and father didn't always operate the family business on the most legal of terms, so Sirius knew all about evidence and covering your arse. 

He went to their bedroom, rifling through the drawers, but not removing the half-empty bottle of lube because that might look suspicious. He found some old rags he'd bought Remus as a joke. Things with horrible titles, like, _Cocks and Hound_ , _Bent Over_ , _Sticky Wanks_ , and _Two Pricks in Hand_. He remembered sitting on the floor laughing at the horrible shots of men coming. Remus had insisted no one looked like that when they came.

Sirius had asked, "What do I look like when I come?" and without looking up from the magazine, Remus had replied "Gorgeous." After that, he had convinced Remus to let him fuck him up against a mirror so he could see for himself. 

Sirius held the magazines in his hand, half tempted to put them out on the sofa for the police to see when they came by to search their flat. Then they would see what sort of interests Remus really had. Instead, Sirius threw them in the fireplace and leaned over, touching a lighter to them until the pictures of over-muscled, greased-up men began to shrink and curl and blacken, and melt away. Anything like that would definitely be seen as a bit seedy. 

All Sirius ended up taking out of the bedroom to be hidden were some hand ties they had used a time or two. Sirius always found _where_ they shagged much more arousing than what they shagged with, and Remus liked anything Sirius did.

Next, Sirius went into the spare room that was Remus's studio. There were canvases stacked against the walls, and special drawers where Remus kept other works not done on canvas. Sirius decided it all needed to go,; Remus would go completely round the twist if anything got ruined or taken away for evidence, and was never returned. Sirius would have had a fit if some police officer came over and manhandled his plants.

Sirius went to the phone and called the warehouse, ordering a number of empty crates to be delivered to their flat immediately.

He began to organize the different works. He'd never snooped or gone through Remus's art before. He'd tried once, when they were still in school, and Remus had told him not to, because he didn't want anything seen in a half-finished state. 

"It's a process for me. You'll say something and I'll question myself," he said. Remus had been so emphatic about it that Sirius never tried again.

He sorted through picture after picture as he waited for the crates, and moved to a stack of canvases that were facing the wall. At first he didn't look, but then something caught his eye: girl bits. 

Sirius pulled the charcoal drawing around to face him, and gasped, he felt as if he had the wind knocked out of him. The picture was of a young girl on the verge of becoming a teenager, but still very much a child. She was naked from the waist down, with knobby knees and skinny, shapeless, thighs sketched in loving detail, along with her hairless vagina. 

Sirius looked to the girl's face; her eyes were very large, as if she had been caught completely off guard. Sirius's stomach began to turn as he grabbed another canvas, and another, and still another. They were all the same. Not the same girl, but the same concept; young girl after young girl in different states of undress, some sitting in a wicker chair, others standing, but all with wide, demure eyes, and tiny, innocent mouths set in some sort of shape that easily inferred that they were hiding a secret. 

What was their secret? What words were hidden behind those tiny little lips?

Sirius’s hands gripped the edge of the nearest portrait, his knuckles white, sweat gathering in his palms. He felt rage clawing through his body. He felt betrayed, angry and sick all at the same time. 

Those innocent eyes and pert little mouths. Their secrets mocked him, showing him enough to doubt, but not enough to know for sure. His stomach was cramping, the spasms sharp and painful. He wanted to run; he wanted to scream; the fury building inside and begging to be let out. What the hell had Remus done? How could he do this to them? To him? If the police saw these, they would know; there would be no doubt. The pictures would only confirm in their minds that Remus was a monster, and there was no possible way he was. There had to be some mistake.

He wanted to burn the pictures like he had burned the stupid magazines; watch the lines of the bodies blacken and melt away, and then Remus would know how angry he was. But that wasn't really getting back at Remus, was it? By destroying the pictures, he was protecting him. No, that wouldn't do at all. Remus had to know, had to see how it felt to be completely betrayed like this. 

Sirius would fuck someone else, that’s what he would do. Stick his cock so far up some other bloke's arse that he practically choked him. 

He would take him, in their bed; bring the guy back here so that their sweat and come would mix on the sheets Remus slept on, and when Remus came home, he would see and smell, and he would know. 

James. He had known James forever. Their families ran in the same upper-crust circles. James was married and had a child, but he had a wandering eye that liked to look at cock. He always said it wasn't really cheating as long as other women weren't involved. 

James wouldn't hesitate; rather, he'd be more than willing. 

He was easily charmed by Sirius's perfect smile, devastating looks, and sharp wit. He would invite James over and they would share a drink, and then Sirius would move him to the bedroom. It would be so easy. 

Their clothes would become forgotten piles on the floor. Sirius would wind his fingers in that absurdly messy hair and pull James's head back for a kiss, licking along his throat to the hollow of his neck. James would fall to the bed panting, and Sirius would fall on top of him. They would fuck and fuck and fuck, making each other filthy—the bed as well. 

Remus would find out, and he would have to forgive Sirius. It wasn't as if either of them hadn't been with other men before they just kept those things out of their flat, out of the world they lived in together. But this time was different. Remus had brought these things into their home, and so Sirius would too. 

The doorbell rang, and Sirius left the studio to answer the door. The crates had arrived. He had the deliveryman leave them in the front room, and told him to come back in an hour to take them away. 

The sketches of the girls were going to be packed away first. Sirius didn't ever want to look at them again. 

_Remus, how could you?_

Sirius ached for an answer, and then, like a sudden cooling breeze, he remembered; Remus is gay. This can't mean a thing. 

_Remus._

_Gay._

Sirius forced himself to look at the charcoal sketches again. They were just pictures. They weren't real. Sirius himself knew something about nude artwork, and he knew that simply drawing–sketching, painting–didn’t mean the artist was aroused. If Sirius had exploded into a jealous rage every time Remus had drawn someone half-clothed or fully naked, they wouldn't have lasted long as a couple. It was something artists did when they studied bodies and shapes. But the police wouldn't understand that. They would only see what they wanted to see.

Sirius knew better. Sirius knew Remus.

Remus was kind and generous and sweet. He was the boy who blushed when they'd had to undress for showers at school. He was the one whose voice shook the first time Sirius insisted he talk dirty to him; the one who told Sirius to stop any time his perverted sense of humour went too far. 

This person they arrested wasn't Remus. They didn't know the real Remus, not like Sirius knew. Sirius understood that artists looked at the world differently, and sometimes drew unconventional things. Drawing a landscape of the countryside didn't mean an artist wanted to stick their cock in a tree as well. Other people didn't understand that. Sirius did.

Sirius would pack up all the pictures–every last one–so that they were safe. He would send them off, and they would return when this whole absurd nightmare was over. When he was finished packing away the canvases and the deliveryman had carted away the crates, he would go pick up Remus, and bring him back home.

He would wash the printing ink from the pads of Remus's fingers, just like he used to wash the charcoal from Remus's hands when they were young and eager to be only with each other. Their innocence would return, everything would be normal again, and he would make sure Remus was all right. 

He loved Remus, and he knew Remus hadn't done a thing. 


End file.
